


i knew my skin that wrapped my frame, wasn’t made to play this game

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:29:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Josh doesn’t remember when this started.





	

**Author's Note:**

> apparently i'm only good at writing when i want to die !!

Josh doesn’t remember when this started. 

Perhaps it had been like this all this time, and he just didn’t notice until it was directly in front of him, staring him down and wrapping its hands around his neck, suffocating him of whatever hope he had left in the empty shell he called his body.

Josh doesn’t remember what it’s like to feel alive.

He forgets to eat, sometimes for days at a time, and when he does, he chokes it down and fights the overwhelming urge to vomit. He swears to himself that he doesn’t have an eating disorder. 

  
_I don’t have an eating disorder. I don’t have an eating disorder. I don’t need another problem to add to the list of how fucked up I am._

  


Everything tastes bland, but nevertheless, he forces a smile when Tyler excitedly suggests that they should get Taco Bell. He can’t ruin this for his best friend, but he sure as hell can ruin it for himself.

  
_You’re already ruined._

  


He tries to fill up the hollow sensation in his chest with food.

He _tries._

  
_Nobody can help you now. Even medical professionals are confused by how fucked up your brain is. They prescribe an endless amount of pills and continually up your doses, but your serotonin levels just aren’t fucking good enough to make you happy._

  


Josh doesn’t remember what it’s like to not want to die every single second he’s awake. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to get up in the morning and not want to melt into the sheets, disappearing from everyone without a trace. 

  


  
_How great would that be, if you could just die without everyone worrying about you?_

  


Josh is selfish. He’s so fucking selfish because there are people who have no one to love them and feel lost and scared and _alone_ , and here he is, with a loving family, a doting best friend who has devoted every aspect of his life to playing music with him, and a significant amount of fans around the world who _adore_ him, and he still feels lost and scared and _alone._

  
_You’re surrounded by water. It’s dark and blue and it looks almost pitch black when there’s no light to reflect off of it. It feels menacing, like the water is glinting at you, beckoning you closer and closer until it swallows you whole, engulfing you completely. You can’t breathe. You’re fucking terrified._

  


Josh thinks of every way he could kill himself. He imagines it, how it would play out, and what would come after.

  
_You’re not good enough, and you never will be._

  


Nobody wants to listen to Josh. He’s just the drummer, someone who’s easily replaceable. He’s not the singer, so nobody wants to listen to his words. Nobody cares. Josh doesn’t even care.

  
_Just go away. You don’t belong here._

  


_You don’t belong anywhere._

  


He drowns himself in cheap, stolen rum. He’s learned to love the bitter taste of it dripping down his throat. His vision gets blurred and he can’t walk properly but it’s fine, because he’s smiling and laughing for the first time in months. He curls up against dirty sidewalks and jumps off the swing when it’s at its highest because he wants to fly. He wants to feel the wind in his hair and at the end of his fingertips, and he swears the moon is calling out to him as he falls to the ground, his knees bruised and bloody. 

This is as close as he gets to feeling alive.

  
_What’s wrong with you? This happiness is fake. Pretend. Simulated. Delusory._

  


When Josh wakes up on the bathroom floor, his body absolutely wretched and destroyed, he wishes he had died in his sleep.

  
_You don’t deserve happiness._

  


_I know._

  


He reads books, he reads articles. He reads tons and tons of “inspirational stories” and how people have overcome their depression, with step by step tips on how to turn your life around. 

  
_Nobody can save you but yourself, but you don’t even want to try._

  


Josh wants to step out of his body. He wants to step out of his bones and leave everything that’s dragging him down, behind and forgotten. He can’t imagine what it’s like to actually enjoy life and want to be alive. To him, that notion sounds hilarious. 

He doesn’t want to want to be alive. He’s too tired for that, he just wants it to be over.

  
_What do you want?_

  


He wants to kill himself. He wants to die. Oh yes, _that’s_ what he wants.


End file.
